I thought after doing my big post in November I’d do a monthly update on how things are going. I really didn’t realize that my post would bring so much support or I’d get so many reaching out and thanking me for sharing, as it helped them as well. I’m really glad that was the unintended side effect of my story. 

Since then I’ve continued on my script for my hormone imbalance. I’m not sure yet if it’s actually balancing anything… how does one tell?… but it’s definitely better than the first try. I may have gone back to the face of a 15 year old, and I don’t mean I look younger, and have the occasional hot flash, which at 33 is a head shaker, but she did say it would be 4 months before we’d know if it did what its suppose to do. 

Thank goodness for Clean and Clear. 

With that going well, I’m assuming, my doctor switched me from Zoloft to Effexor… Effexor sound like some bad ass shield and sword combo wielded by a knight to slay an ancient and imposing beast that has been plaguing the masses with gouts of fire and devastating claws. Which could also be a visualization for my depression come to think of it.

Score one for my overactive imagination. 

The Zoloft was doing a really great job doing what it was supposed to do. I felt a complete mood shift, I had some patience again, I had run out of that in 2009, and the internal nightly monologue that kept me from sleeping for the longest time was quieting down. It wasn’t better but overall a marked step forward.

Unfortunately what the Zoloft also did was make me so exhausted that I could honestly sleep more than I was awake and still want to go back to bed. This being the weird journey that it is I felt like it gave me reason and justification to nap it up. Like an octogenerian I could literally nod off mid-conversation or meal. No face in soup occurrences, thank goodness, but I really felt like I needed my house coat and corrective shoes. 

Along with that the Zoloft also killed whatever memory I once had and gave concentration an extended holiday. Pretreatment I couldn’t sit and relax, it would make me anxious and jittery. Even if I didn’t know what I should be doing I felt I should be doing it right now. Post treatment and I felt like Jim Breuer in Half Baked (points for that throwback reference). Mindless activity was the only activity I could excel at. 

I’m about 2 weeks in on the Effexor, we’re trying it for a month then reassessing. I feel like the Effexor is a double-edged sword, I have more concentration and energy than before but it, so far, isn’t doing as well as the Zoloft in the important areas. Some of the anxiety is back and I’ve slipped back on the mood ground a bit. I’ve going to finish up my last 2 weeks and see how it goes but I think another change is in the cards.

Meds aside, one thing I’ve really noticed about coming to grips with the official diagnosis is that, while they shouldn’t necessarily, people do treat you different. In my home life my kids have a general understanding of what’s going on and my hubs has the full ride, my in laws aren’t “in the know” either.

I think that a lot of the reason people don’t speak up about problems like depression is the fear of how those around you will react and treat you. It shouldn’t be a worry, we should worry about making our lives better and getting help, but its a fear. Since starting my treatment I’ve noticed that my hubs tip toes a bit more around me. Life still goes on with its problems and we weren’t having the conversations about them. I know he’s worried about upsetting me, which is sweet, but it’s having the opposite effect than he intends. I’m a contrary creature but him trying to not upset me and keeping things to himself even when I asked upset me way more than the initial problem.

That’s what I don’t think people understand.

I don’t want your pity. 

I don’t want you to walk on eggshells because of the problem, that now has an official name, that I have.

I want your understanding, support and patience.

I want you to realize that I’m doing my best, I may not act like I did before, I may act totally irrational for no reason you can understand but I’m trying and I want you to try too. Tell me it’ll be ok, give me lots of hugs (I’m a hugger), and roll with my crazy. Eventually it’ll mellow into not so weird. Things still need to get taken care of, life goes on, even if occasionally I binge watch documentaries on ancient egypt because I can’t figure out why I can’t get out of bed.

It does have a cat in it, and it is comfy.

Which I’m sure doesn’t help.

Well before I go try and be a productive citizen, I do want you guys to know how much I appreciate the support I started off mentioning. I didn’t see it coming and it really surprised and got to me. Big HUGS to all of you!